


Real Is My Always

by hutchabelle



Category: The Hunger Games
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: Katniss and Peeta wake up together the morning after she tells him, “Real.”





	Real Is My Always

**Author's Note:**

> All content is canon compliant.

Rays from the sun slant through the window and cause my eyes to flutter open. Peeta’s body radiates heat against my back, and I shift in his arms. Something feels different this morning, and I struggle to clear my sleep-muddled brain so I can figure out why. Peeta tightens his grip almost imperceptibly, but I’m still able to turn over so I can face him. It’s then that I realize his bare skin is fused to mine.

 

Peeta’s eyelashes tangle together and glint golden in the sparkling light. His full lips part slightly as he inhales and then releases his breath. He snuffles slightly with every exhale, but it’s soft enough that the sound is endearing rather than irritating. His blonde curls are matted against his forehead, but I resist the urge to brush them from his flushed skin. I don’t want to wake him before I’ve had the chance to fully appreciate why this morning is unique.

 

Emboldened by Peeta’s sleeping state, I lift my fingers to tentatively brush across his pink-tinted cheeks. He flinches slightly but then leans into the pads of my fingers to reveal the curve of his bronzed neck. With a sigh of surrender, I press my mouth to his warmth and suck lightly just above his collarbone. Peeta grunts and shifts, and I can feel him thicken against my leg, which finally sparks my memory.

 

****

 

_“Katniss,” he whispers as he moves above me, his mouth following his hands as he tugs at my shirt to expose my shoulder to him. His kisses ignite a burning sensation deep within me, and I whimper as he moves from my shoulder to my chest and down my torso. His lips ghost across my abdomen, and I strain upward to get closer to him._

_It feels like hours before our skin, burned and disfigured as it is, joins together with no barrier. His fingers trace my scars lovingly before burrowing inside me. I bite my lip in an attempt to keep silent, but I’m mewling within seconds and open wider for him._

_“This can’t be real,” he murmurs as he settles into the cradle of my thighs and unites us. My eyes drift close, and I lose myself to the hunger, the intense wanting, the burning desire that’s haunted me since the beach in the Quarter Quell._

_“It’s real,” I gasp and am met with a tortured groan._

_Peeta’s grunts are matched by his panting. Both echo in the room as he moves within me. I can’t read his mind, but I chase a fleeting thought that this act, this surrender to what would have been anyway, hastens his healing. I can only hope the pleasure I feel that’s mixed with an exquisite pain floods him too. After all, he once told me pain helped hold him together. I don’t know how that could be now since I feel like I’m about to come apart, but the memory brings me comfort anyway._

_It’s over all too soon—much quicker than I want it to be—and we float back to earth still connected. We’re together as we’ve always been._

_Peeta’s blue eyes observe me in adoration as his artistic fingers thread through my hair. I’m reminded again how much better life is when his gaze is one of longing, not wariness. He’s fought so hard to get back to me, and I’m immensely grateful I returned the favor. He was forced to wait for me to work through the lost days for far too long before I could give him what we both desperately want and need._

_“You love me. Real or not real?” he asks, his voice tentative and laced with hints of vulnerability and anxiety. My heart breaks at his insecurity, and I don’t hesitate to press my mouth to his in a gentle kiss._

_When our lips part, I reassure him, “Real.”_

****

 

An unfamiliar smile stretches across my face at the memory of the night before, one that’s been years in the making and stems from the evening I sank to my knees under a tree in his backyard. If I would allow myself to be romantic, I’d trace every smile I’ve had since the time he threw me the bread as a direct result of Peeta’s selflessness that night. I rarely permit myself thoughts this fanciful, but today is special. It’s the morning after I told him, “Real.”

 

He shifts again, flexing his limbs just enough to rouse himself from slumber. I observe his face and watch him blink several times while his blue eyes clear. Once they have, I know he’s really awake. His lips curve into an affectionate grin and utter a gentle greeting.

 

“Good morning.”

 

His voice is husky, colored by recent sleep, and it sends a thrill through my body. Before I can acknowledge my physical reaction to him, my face flushes, and I’m overwhelmed by a rush of embarrassment. I can’t look him in the eye. I can barely mumble a returned greeting to the man I’ve finally admitted I love.

 

“What’s wrong, Katniss?” he prods gently, his words full of his usual concern and consideration. He’s so unfailingly good that I can’t begin to understand how he sees past my many failings. He’s overcome more in the past few years than most people could handle in a lifetime, and yet he’s still the same loving Peeta I came to know in the first Games.

 

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” I snap in a clipped voice. Before he can react, I blurt, “I have to go,” and spring from the bed. I’m dressed and out the door in less than a minute. I don’t stop running until I’m safely past the broken fence and into the forest. It’s always been my sanctuary.

 

I don’t want to hunt today, though, unless it’s to find my own understanding of my reaction to waking up in Peeta’s bare arms. Sleeping together became commonplace between us long before last night, so why was waking up this morning naked with him any different?

 

My face is flushed, and I’m sure my cheeks burn bright red at the thought of us together. That’s what we are now; together. We have been since his name was called in the Reaping and we entered the train bound for the Capitol. Joined hands in the chariot during our first Tribute Parade coupled with our joint decision to eat nightlock berries if the Gamemakers didn’t stop us solidified our union long before either of us knew it was actually authentic.

 

The morning passes slowly as I stare listlessly at the trees. It’s almost unfair to be here in this place where Gale and I spent so much time together when my thoughts are consumed with images of Peeta’s hands on my skin and the feel of him inside me. Our union felt completely natural, entirely right, so why am I so anxious?

 

The sun passes its apex and begins a downward slope before I glance sideways and spy a patch of yellow. Five dandelions push through the tangled weeds and sway in the soft breeze. They remind me of Peeta but also a tiny bit of my deceased father who first taught me they could be used for sustenance. Now that I’ve been through what I have, I understand better my mother’s response when she lost him. Maybe I was too hard on her, but I still resent her absence when Prim and I needed her the most.

 

My throat burns at the thought of my dead sister who was cruelly and nonsensically taken from me during the war. Time has helped me heal some, but I’ll never really get past the ache of her loss. I knew I loved her long before I acknowledged my devotion to Peeta, but that didn’t stop me from losing them both. Thankfully, Peeta returned.

 

It hits me then, the cause of my anxiety this morning in bed. The horrors of life in District 12 under Snow’s reign forced me to cut myself off from caring about anyone except for my sister after the mining accident that left my mother inconsolable and my father gone. Even that couldn’t stop my feelings for Peeta from bubbling below the surface. By the time I kissed him on the beach in the arena, I knew my feelings ran far deeper than I could handle and still survive without him. When I lost him to the Capitol’s hijacking, I reacted differently than my mother. I sprang into action instead of slipping into a catatonic state, but I still fell apart.

 

Two of the three things I feared most in the world happened. I couldn’t save my sister, and I lost the love of my life. I’ve survived both. Somehow I’ve made it through and come out with Peeta both in my life and my bed.

 

What else is left? What else could break me? Nothing. Nothing could cause a complete collapse except for the third thing that haunts me. I told Gale once that I was never having children, but now Peeta and I are together and there are no more Games. Everything I’ve fought for results in a world where Peeta’s children can be safe.

 

Suddenly, I want to be with him so badly my chest aches. I crave the feel of his arms cradling me to his chest and the touch of his lips against mine. I’m nowhere near wanting children of my own yet, but I do know Peeta deserves be a father. I’m the only one who can give him that now.

 

I leap from the rock and rush headlong to the old boundary of my district, pausing only long enough to pluck the dandelions that sparked my realization. I grip them tightly as I hurry home to the man who eases my nightmares and makes waking not only bearable but desirable. I know he’ll never pressure me for more than I can give him, and that makes it possible to function with the knowledge that I might carry his children and hold them in my arms.

 

“Peeta!” I cry as I burst through the door and scour the ground floor of the house for him. Silence greets me, but I can smell the faint scent of bread wafting from the kitchen. He baked today after I left, which means he didn’t flee to his abandoned house when I ran.

 

“Peeta?” I call again as I climb the stairs, and my heart lurches at the sounds of sobbing coming from my—our—bedroom. He’s huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth and holding his head between his hands. I’m terrified he’s experiencing another dissociative episode.

 

I speak his name again, and his head lifts to reveal watery eyes and an anguished expression. He reaches for me, and I fall into his embrace. His frame shakes in my arms as he confesses, “I didn’t know if you’d come back to me.”

 

I grip him fiercely at his admission, petrified that I could instill such vulnerability in another human being, but I guess it’s not surprising considering everything he’s been through.

 

“Look at me,” I order gently but firmly and wait for his brilliant blue eyes to connect with my steely silver ones.

 

The inherent strength I see behind his sorrow would break me if I was a weaker person, but I’m not. I’ve survived two Games and a revolution, two presidents who wanted me dead, and the loss of dear friends and beloved family. Nothing can hurt me anymore as long as Peeta’s beside me.

 

His lips tremble, and I lean forward to cover his mouth with mine. I can taste his fear seep away as we caress each other. When he’s regained his composure, I regard him affectionately. He’s chagrined enough to blush under my steady gaze.

 

I pull away from him and rise to standing. Reaching down with one arm, I take his hand firmly in mine. Without hesitation, I lead him to the bed and sit down on the side to face him. He steps between my knees and waits, obviously unsure of what to expect from me.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, but I shake my head sharply.

 

“No apologies, Peeta. None are needed,” I assure him. “You promised to stay with me always. I promised you real.” He nods slowly as if he’s nervous to hear more.

 

“What are you saying, Katniss?” he asks in a voice so soft I can barely hear him. I lift my face to his and tell him what he needs to know.

 

“You don’t ever have to wonder. Real is my always.”


End file.
